Verboten Anthology
by daniel-gudman
Summary: Following a Lost Logia incident on Unadministered World 82 "Jetter" : Special Lost Property Division Six is reformed, ostensibly for Yuuno's Lost Logia hunt, but secretly to handle a new, JS related prophecy.
1. 2 vs 2

**Summary**

Following a Lost Logia incident on Unadministered World 82 ("Jetter"): Lost Property Division Six is reformed, ostensibly for Yuuno's Lost Logia hunt, but secretly to handle a new, JS related prophecy.

**Author's Note**

Because I was watching StrikerS about the same time I was reading Redemption Ark, I was comparing the two as I went along. The results of that thinking-please enjoy them, this story.

We begin, after things have already started-

I I I

**Prologue: 2 vs 2**

The man was a ragged vagrant.

An overlong tattered coat like a poncho. Scuffed boots with thin soles. Wild hair forcibly gathered back with a strap, and a jagged beard. Blonde and sun-bleached; the paleness of the hair only accented the dust that was caked into it.

What did not match was the gleam of the metal pendant. Wrapped around the wrist of his right hand, below a tattered glove without fingers, was a heavy bandage; threaded on that bandage was that polished metal ornament. Untarnished bronze, in a flattened disk with a wide central hole.

Compared to that image of a "ragged vagrant", his running speed did not match either. His sprinter's form was compact but not stiff. His legs devoured the ground.

"Stop!" His pursuer shouted. Her running form was less elegant, but had fierce determination. Her crisp black uniform and the gun-type device in her hands agreed with her policewoman image. She shouted over her own breathing to deliver her orders, her threats. "This is your last warning!"

"Shit." The vagrant muttered.

His companion said nothing; when compared to the other two, he is the least athletic. He had no breath in his lungs to spare for anything but pumping his legs.

Rather than a ragged vagrant with contradictions, he simply looked like an anachronism failing to look inconspicuous. The worn-out brown coat is fastened closed down his chest, but flared back from his hips to allow his legs to run; and the jet-black, alien pseudofabric of the trim jumpsuit underneath the coat that ran down his legs into seamless shoes, sticking out of the sleeves as equally seamless gloves, all fit perfectly. It did not move like clothing. It was like another layer of skin.

On his head was a tall hat, shaped like a pipe, with a chewed brim.

The alley was closed. The walls loomed up on either side like canyons. On one side, the immensely long and high wall of the Central Physical Research Lab; on the other, a factory building like a great cubic anthill, that once billowed black smoke into the black Jetter sky, now fallen to dilapidation and rust.

Everything was in its place. There was nothing but the walls on either side of two suspicious men running from the TSAB Enforcer.

The alley opened onto a wide street before them. Because the Lab had been interdicted by the TSAB, the city was comatose. The street traffic was no problem.

"At the mouth", the vagrant said between breaths, "we'll split opposite ways."

The anachronism simply nodded, his hat swinging like a curt upside-down pendulum.

An explosion, four meters ahead of them, against the institute wall. The shooting magic that had streaked past them to strike that wall from that officer did not cause either man to flinch.

'A warning shot'; the vagrant thought. 'They've gotten soft.'

With grim determination, he poured on speed, pulling ahead of his companion, veering slightly to the left, indicating the direction he will juke to the anachronism behind and beside him.

The great mechanical whine of rotation was not a noise he could place. But, the great roar of some woman's voice, that his ears could triangulate.

'Not a warning', he realized, 'but a signal…!'

With something like desperation, he threw himself backwards, crashing into his companion.

At that point where the warning shot struck the wall of the Lab, that wall shattered inwards like a great wrecking ball had swung into it full speed.

That is not too far from the truth.

Lunging in a great punch, the hand armored by the heavy gauntlet blasted through that wall. Counterspinning bangles inset in that gauntlet scattered the smashed debris.

Without wasting any motion, the hand hooked around, guiding the body and the legs as they slid across the ground; those legs flexed, cutting the wheels under those feet as the ambusher sliced to a stop. Halted, with a casual breath, that figure unflexed her crouching legs and stood upright. The long ribbon fluttered out of the short hair ruffled by the wind her own impact caused.

Crouched in that alley, nearly sitting on the ground, the vagabonds considered the gauntleted one before them and the Enforcer behind them. There is no doubt these were TSAB officers. Issued with custom devices, they possessed magic that was simply beyond anything available on this Unadministered World named Jetter.

"You can still come peacefully." The one with the gun commanded. "We just have some questions. You are not at this time being charged with any crimes."

"Hm." The vagrant said, standing, his poncho-like coat flowing like a stiff cape.

Smoothly, his silent companion also rose to his feet, leaning back to press against the wall.

"We're just here to save the people." The gauntleted one added. "After the spatial disaster at the Lab, many people are suffering. If you know anything, please, tell us."

"Shut up." The vagrant said. His tone is neither weary, nor angry; he is simply making his counterstatement. "Girl", he said turning to face the one in the black uniform with the gun, "maybe you're friend's speech would work... if I didn't recognize the uniform of the Enforcers." With a small sneer, he settled into a fighting stance. "Against that... it's already a fight to my death."

"Is there no other way?" She asked. Her eyes were soft. Her voice was sad. But, the gun was held steady. It neither shook nor lowered. It was still firmly pointed at those men.

"Flamberge." Without breaking eye contact, he spoke.

That bronze pendent at his hand responded in a cool voice. "Setting Up."

In a flash of red light, he transformed. The tattered coat and scuffed boots were gone.

A double-breasted vest of slate grey buttoned all the way to the throat. An ascot spilled out of the top, hiding the line of the man's neck beneath that garishly striped white-and-red fabric. Stiffly flaring down from a wide belt were grey pants, tied closed beneath the knee. The arms and legs below the knee were covered in a thick stocking-like material of solid color; right leg and right arm were bright red. The left side were white. Hands in grey gloves, and feet in grey shoes like slippers.

Gripped in that right hand, a longsword-type device. The blade pointed straight out, but along its length, it undulated, a sine wave, up and down like the water on the ocean surface. And yet, despite that knightly sword, it was the circle of Mid-childan styled magic that turned at his feet, not the Belkan triangle.

Without breaking eye contact, leaning towards the gunner, he spoke one more time. "Blitz".

He dropped down and spun, knees bent tight like a frog, his chest barely skimming above the ground, dodging the reflexive shot the Enforcer made. Even in that instant he dodged, he was like a flash of thunder across the night as he shot up from the ground towards her.

Although her guard was up, the one with the gauntlet could barely even raise her arms before he was already attacking her.

The bicep of the raised left arm-  
Right stomach beneath the ribs-  
The thigh of the leading left leg-

The sword flashed like three-pronged lightning, forcing her back, cutting her open.

He spun, streaking forward in the blink of the eye coming up-!

The gunner desperately stepped back, throwing back her head as the sword cleanly passed right through where her chin was less than a second ago.

The sword was raised, pointed skyward between them, still going higher-

The gun came up. With his self thrown behind that powerful rising stroke, all he can do is look down and meet her victorious grin. He could not slash downwards before the muzzle that was already pointed towards him-

And the sword smashed down, the pommel brutally striking her in the face. Rather than swinging the sword, he simply pulled it to slam straight down into her skull.

Dazed, she pulled the trigger, but it fired wide-

He stepped back, corrected his position and stance, and cleanly slashed downward. The most basic attack; with the sword raised before him, pulling straight down with both hands. The edge bit into her collar, and was pulled down through her body. She was cut. There was no cleaner cut that could have been made.

His eyes narrowed.

The wound was not fatal. On neither of those women were the wounds fatal. Although he had surprise against them, although he was faster than either of them, although his years of battle experience exceed each of their years alive-the wounds were not fatal.

Their barrier jackets were too strong. He simply… could not fully cleave through their defenses.

Forty years.

All that time, avoiding the TSAB; the growth of the organization's magic across four decades was unknown to him. Knowing that as a rational hypothesis in his head and feeling his own inadequacy through his sword are two different things.

Although is battle skill is four decades superior, his weapon is equally four decades inferior.

"TEANA!"

His musing was cut short by the blood cry behind him, the woman with the drill-like gauntlet. Even if his triple attack wasn't fatal, he is surprised she is capable of even standing with those wounds.

He turned.

Power exploded from her body, racing forth in a blaze and a spiral. It gushed from anger.

Her fist was drawn back; the gauntlet spun furiously. She launched-

She was intercepted.

The other man, under his dull brown coat, moved.

He did not move elegantly. His motion was not skilled. He simply lashed out with his hand. It was like he drew a line in his mind from where he was to where he wanted to be and simply traced his palm along that line he imagined.

But it was inhumanly fast. Without magic, without a device, he was a blur. From thinking "I will move" to his arm moving—no human nervous system could pass signals that quickly.

As that left gauntlet passed before him, his hand whipped out like a snake, and with unnatural accuracy grasped the wrist just beneath the thumb, seizing the gauntlet head adjacent that first spinning gear. Without hesitating, without pausing, he shoved it downward with bestial strength, forcing that fist to drive into the ground before him.

She snarled, whipping her arm out, snapping it back to chamber at her hip, uncaring of the concrete sprayed outward-

And she jerked back: a sword thrust downwards towards her shoulder. With a twitch the grip is changed; from a thrust, it could now swing up in another rising arc.

She stared up.

He stared down.

Can I punch him before-

Can I cut her before-

For the first time, the anachronism spoke. His voice was rusty and uncertain, like a monk used to a vow of silence. "We are leaving." He paused, and slowly backed away from the scene before him. "You should seek medical attention for yourself and your companion."

"Teana..." Compared to the roar, this desperate note was totally different.

The sword-wielding man grunted. "It wasn't too deep. She should live."

With careful glances, unmindful of her own bleeding wounds, she backed up, towards her friend.

When the two broke and run, she ignored them, turning to scoop up her friend, already shouting over the telepathic network for help.


	2. Blood Cube

**Chapter 1: Blood Cube**

The office of the Infinite Librarian. A vast room shaped like a cylinder, lined with books that towered over a broad desk lit from beneath by the holographic interface.

Sitting casually in the stuffed chair behind that broad desk was a man in a green suit, with his blonde hair cleanly pulled back into a tail. His eyes were inscrutable behind glasses that glowed from the reflection of that holographic interface.

Before the desk, sitting in the chairs for visitors, was a young man and a boy.

"Dr. Scrya". The young man greeted, extending his hand. He was obviously a civilian. Rather than a uniform, he wore a suit; shirt, pants, shoes, jacket were all richly, deeply black. But, tie and trim was a bright shade of yellow that popped out of that black suit. His clothes were of high quality. The sharp effect of his manner of dress distracted from his fundamentally uninteresting appearance: modestly black hair in an unremarkable cut, and a face that was neither ugly nor handsome, neither strong nor weak.

The professor rose from behind his desk, and leaned forward, grasping the extended hand and shaking. Yuuno Scrya smiled, turning his attention to his other guest.

"Professor," greeted the boy with an easy, confident smile, as he rose to also shake hands with the sage before him. The boy also wore suit and tie, workmanlike blues with a white shirt, but over that his long white coat was obviously designed to invoke the lab, even if it was pressed and starched. Purple hair and a natural expression of intellectual sharpness served to draw attention to his face-rather the opposite of his taller compatriot.

All three sat down. "So this is our first time meeting face to face." The professor began. "And before anything else, I'd like to welcome the pair of you to the Infinity Library. Work hard, and I will do everything to support you as you reach for your dreams."

"Thank you, Dr. Scrya." The boy said. His voice was warm, but there was something in his intonation, in the way he spoke, that gave his every word an edge of sarcasm.

"I'm grateful for the opportunity to study under you, sir." Said the young man. Compared to the boy, his way of speaking lacked the emotional complexity for sarcasm: he was in every way earnest.

Yuuno nodded his thanks. "Since you've been accepted as research scholars, that means your time will be split between performing your own thesis investigations and filling investigation requests from all over the TSAB." He paused, and his smile grew lopsided. "In theory you should be splitting your time evenly, but..." Yuuno shrugged. "Personally, I struggle to fit my own research in between the outside requests."

The young man and the boy glanced askance, making eye contact.

"Well!" Yuuno Scrya said, standing up and clapping his hands. "For now, I'll give you the tour of the facility." He smiled, more honestly than before. "There's always work, but to be surrounded by this much accumulated knowledge, I honestly feel blessed, and I hope you also will..."

He trailed off, looking up.

The door to his office had opened. Peeking inside, was a red-haired girl with dog ears.

"What is it, Arf?" Yuuno asked.

"Fate is on band three." The familiar replied. "It's important."

He looked down at the two before him. "You've both accepted and signed the confidentiality contracts?"

The two looked at each other, before looking back, and nodding.

"Very well." Yuuno looked up. "Arf, just route it into my office."

Arf nodded slowly, gaze lingering on the two youn men in the chairs. She wanted to ask something like, "shouldn't they leave the room", but... that had already been addressed by Yuuno's question, and they were going to be his apprentices. That is the relationship between professor and graduate student.

Above Yuuno's desk, at right angles so all three men could see, a holographic screen opened.

A beautiful woman, in the severe uniform of the TSAB enforcers. Beneath her videograph, she was identified as Captain Fate Testarossa.

She smiled when she made eye contact with Yuuno. It was an empty expression, a tug at her lips that did not reach any higher on her face. "Yuuno." She greeted.

"Fate." He nodded back. Seeing her eyes flicker to the other two in the room, he gestured. "These two are graduate students working on their doctorates under me," he said, "Hilux Nabarria", he gestured at the young man, who smiled back, "and Prison Sessanta." The boy nodded solemnly to the enforcer.

"And this is Fate Testarossa." He said, somewhat unnecessarily, indicating the screen.

"A pleasure to make your acquaintance," the young man-Hilux-graciously said.

"Charmed." The boy-Prison-allowed, with an enigmatic smile.

"The pleasure is mine." Fate said, somewhat by rote. Her attention returned to Yuuno. "We have a situation." She grimly announced.

"Oh?" Yuuno encouraged her to continue.

"Fourteen days ago there was a space-time incursion on Unadministered World number 82. Corporal Subaru Nakajima was dispatched from Disaster Relief to provide humanitarian aid, and Private, First Class, Teana Lanster was dispatched by the Enforcers to investigate." Fate grimaced. "We've known for some time that their Supreme Dictat has been secretly pursuing forbidden research."

Yuuno frowned. "You make it sound like there's a 'but' in there."

"Over the course of the investigation, PFC Lanster determined that the Jetter Central Physical Research Lab, their premier scientific institution, lacked the technological capability to stabilize an incursion into space-time."

"So it wasn't the locals." Yuuno confirmed.

"That was their conclusion as well." Fate agreed. "Shortly after, PFC Lanster detected an anomalous magic residual and identified it as possibly eminating from a person of interest."

"The culprit?" Yuuno asked.

"We don't know. She was essentially grasping at straws by that point." Fate shook her head. "But, while apprehending the POI for questioning, with backup from Corporal Nakajima, an associate of the POI using Mid-styled magic inflicted severe wounds on both of them." Fate shook her head. "I was called in to take charge of the investigation while PFC Lanster recovers in the hospital, and Corporal Nakajima hasn't been released back to active duty yet, either."

Silence.

Fate sighed. "So far the POI has demonstrated no magic potential. But his associate is a high-speed Striker that uses a sword-type device named "Flamberge" with the Mid-Childan system."

"Armed, and extremely dangerous." Yuuno muttered.

"Yes." Fate agreed. "Any data you can dig up what be greatly appreciated."

"I'll see what I can do..." Yuuno sighed.

"Thank you, Yuuno." Fate finished.

"Give my best to Teana and Subaru." Yuuno added.

"I will." Fate nodded, and signed out, the videograph blanking out.

Hilux frowned. "Jetter... didn't they just finish up a big intraplanet war?"

Yuuno nodded absently. "Yes. They're a remnant civilization that was lost in the post-Belkan chaos."

"They're rated at two on the ignorance spectrum, right?" Prison asked.

The five point "ignorance spectrum": five for a civilization with complete knowledge of the existence of TSAB, and one for a society that believes it's the sole human civilization. With a rank of two, the existence of extra-planetary civilization is a secret inside their culture known only to a cabal.

"Wouldn't they be a three?" Hilux disagreed.

Three: a civilization that is evenly split, possessing fragmented or contradictory evidence, that is divided and does not possess consensus regarding the existence of extra-planetary civilizations.

"According to Hofstrom's formulation, a one. According to Konno's, a three." Yuuno announced.

Hofstrom's formulation is a population-weighted statistical measurement where each score on the scale is a "ceiling" of incremental 20% believers; Konno's formulation measures the score as a function of GDP involved with extra-planetary action. For a world like Jetter, where knowledge of other planetary civilizations is suppressed by a ruling political class that is struggling, in secret, to develop technological parity with the TSAB, Yuuno's distinction is correct.

The "ignorance score" is not a popular tool within the TSAB for assessing possible client planets because there is no academic consensus on what the scores actually mean: the intended ease of a simple five-point metric was completely compromised by the opacity of the decision rules and continuous academic argument.

Yuuno paused, considering. "Actually," he said, looking down at the two, "let's make this a test of your abilities with search magic."

"Hilux, research Jetter." Yuuno ordered. "Collect theories for why it was the incursion site; if they're just coincidental, that's fine, but rule everything out. Start with Lost Logia associated with Jetter; that's a depressingly common answer to how planet-local apocalypses start up."

Hilux nodded. "Yes sir."

"Prison," Yuuno continued, "see if you can identify this Striker with the sword."

"Certainly." Prison agreed. "But, is it all right to delegate such important research to us?"

Yuuno smiled, a trifle shy. "Um, actually, I'm going to compare how far you can get to what I'll dig up myself. That's what makes it a test."

"You're pretty confident in your search magic." Hilux not-quite-accused.

"I do okay." Yuuno admitted.

I I I

The ragged vagrant floated across the midnight sky. The carbon-heavy clouds of Jetter, laden with smogs, blotted out the stars and moons, casting everything in pitch darkness.

Very carefully, the vagrant regulated his magical power as low as possible; any more than a trickle and they could be detected by the magiteck of the TSAB. Likewise, too much speed would give them away. Even if they were going to perform one desperate last stand, haste would avail them nothing at that junction.

The vagrant's shape was unnatural.

Slung over his shoulders in a fireman's carry, was his companion, the anachronism. He was like a sack resting solidly on the other man's shoulders.

Their coats-the poncho-like rags of the vagrant and the tattered duster of the anachronism-fluttered like half-hearted banners behind them as the drifted through the air.

The anachronism was clutching his ancient top-hat to his head with his left hand, preventing it from blowing away in the intermittent winds.

The anachronism opened his mouth.

"I'm not going to drop you." The vagrant said.

The anachronism nodded.

I I I

Fate Testarossa smoothed her skirt and lowered herself into the chair.  
Subaru Nakajima did not even blink. Without even noticing that a superior officer was seated beside her, from hooded eyes, she continued to brood over her wounded friend. She didn't notice anything, like she didn't recognize anything.

No, that is not true. Because Subaru spoke, addressing the blond woman beside her.

"I couldn't…" Subaru began, voice low, tense, and distraught. "I couldn't protect her."

"She is alive." Fate quietly said.

"That's not enough!" Subaru fiercy rebutted, fists clenching between her knees. "Teana got hurt because of me, because I wasn't fast enough, wasn't good enough! I couldn't save her!"

That self-recrimination hung in the air.

"Nanoha got hurt once." Fate quietly said. "She pushed herself too hard. She was exhausted, and made a mistake. Then, she was harmed."

Subaru shifted.

"I remember feeling the same way you did." Fate continued. "Sitting in that same chair, looking down at a friend bandaged the same way in that same white hospital bed."

"But you know what?"

Subaru grunted.

"When I said those same things to her, I felt worse, because then Nanoha had a look on her face like she'd been wounded all over again."

Subaru flinched.

"I'm not going to say something like, 'It couldn't be helped' or 'You did your best' or even 'Sometimes things just go wrong', because even if your head knows they're true, your heart won't believe." Fate sighed. "But, right now, being strong for your friend means not blaming yourself. It means smiling and supporting them, because Teana will also be blaming herself for getting hurt, and you don't want her to suffer more because she sees you, her friend, suffering, right?"

Subaru said nothing. Finally, she nodded, a heavy motion like her spine was filled with lead.

Fate stood, patting Subaru on the shoulder. "So, rather than putting on a heavy scowl, the first thing Teana needs to see when she wakes up is your relieved smile, ok?"

"Yes sir." Subaru said, with a heavy sigh.

"As long as you understand." Fate said, smiling. "Now, I have to go take care of some other things." Fate stood, absently brushing her skirt smooth on her thighs.

"Right." Subaru grunted.

As the door opened before Fate, Subaru spoke again.

"Testarossa-san." Subaru said, without looking up, without looking back.  
"Thank you."

Fate smiled. "You're welcome."

She stepped through the door, and it slid shut behind her.

In the hall outside sick bay, Fate took a deep breath, and released it in a heavy sigh.

Then, she gestured with a flick of her hand, even as she turned to walk down the hall. Her holographic interface lit up beside her. "You paged me?"  
Bridge communication officer Lucino Lillie saluted over the comm channel.

"Sir!" At Fate's nod, she released the salute. "We've triangulated the signature of the residual magical waveform that was recorded by Cross Mirage. It's more like a fading echo than a mage's signature, though."

Fate frowned. "So it's not the mage signature of the target?"

Lucino shook her head. "It doesn't appear that way."

"If it's just ringdown noise from a dimensional incursion…" Fate shook her head, half-amazed and half-appalled.

"We're moving into position over them now." Lucino continued.

Fate cocked her head to the side. "You mean they're not over the capital anymore?"

Lucino shook her head. "Unauthorized flight. The accomplice has already been tentatively tagged an A-rank mage."

"Were are they headed?" Fate said.

Lucino double-checked her computer. "According to these projections… they're moving in a straight line towards a geographic feature called 'Salt Bay' on the maps that were provided by the Dictatum."

Fate frowned. "I will prepare to deploy… let me know when we are in range for teleportation."

Lucino saluted. "Yes sir!" With that, she cut the link, and the holographic square floating beside Fate's head dispersed into nothingness.

Walking along the hallway, Fate allowed her thoughts to circle in worry.

Dimensional incursion—an event where an asymptote was created in the curvature of space-time. From a literal perspective, it created a position of theoretically infinite potential energy. Time travel or truly instantaneous movement became possible. Of course, rather than being used, such an event could simply be collapsed, releasing all that potential explosively. There was an upper limit to the effect, but destroying a planet was within that limit.

Fortunately, forcing the curvature of space-time away from steady state was fiendishly hard. It took the resources of an entire world-government to pull together the experimental technology required to create even a marginally stable quasi-incursion. That was why the TSAB had interdicted the Dictat that ruled Jetter—they were the best suspect.

But, against all common sense, it looked like the incursion had just two authors, just two scruffy wanderers without any links to the TSAB or the world they were on—two hobos, essentially. That was what Fate's instincts as an Enforcer were telling her those two were. Two marginal mages that snuck between worlds at the outskirts of the TSAB.

But their deeds did not match that profile.

The motives and purposes of these two vagabonds were totally unknown. There capabilities and capacities were only partially known. One was the only detected link to a dimensional incursion, an event of such serious danger that the TSAB was authorized to take any measures, no matter how extreme, to prevent or seal them—even if it meant going to war with an Unadministered World such as Jetter, no one on the council would even blink, if it was necessary to solve an incursion.

I I I

"That's odd…" Yuuno said, frowning at the hologram. Finally, he shook his head.

"What is it?" Arf asked.

Yuuno sighed, and took off his glasses to absently rub them clean as he glanced over his shoulder at the red-haired familiar. "There are a couple references to a device named "Flamberge", but all the links have been cut and all the identifying information has been redacted."

Arf frowned. "A cover up?"

Yuuno shook his head. "No, it's not trying to hide anything. This is a pretty straightforward example of something just getting buried under a top-secret classification. Well, with one major oddity."

Arf waited for Yuuno to continue.

He obliged. "There's no agency. Usually, in a military database like the Infinite Library has become, if something is classified, it's under a specified authority—so you know who to ask if you really do need to know, and you know to stop looking if you don't." Yuuno grunted, pushing his glasses back up his nose. "But, the metadata of who classified the data and when, that's all been completely removed, if it was ever there in the first place."

Arf scowled at that, crossing her arms. "So it's a dead end?"

Yuuno began to shake his head, and then paused, considering. "Well… kind of. We can't just trace the name "Flamberge" back to the owner or anything like that, but I'm pretty sure this device was registered under a TSAB officer about forty years ago."

Arf blinked, surprised. "You mean... a deserter?"

Yuuno shrugged. "Or it was scavenged somehow. I won't know anything about how the current user compares to the original owner until I've at least got some data about the latter."

He sighed. "Anyway, it's been a while… I should probably check up on my students, and then report what we've found to Fate."

I I I

Fate Testarossa hung in the sky. Waves crashed mutely on the shore behind and below her. The breeze was alive with the salt scent of the ocean.

Too late.

This thing… was obviously a Lost Logia.

Her eye twitched, and the holographic panel lit up beside her, indicating she had an incoming comm call. "Patch it through, please." She requested.

"Yes sir." Bardiche intoned, linking with ship node to send a wave communication from the Jetter airspace to the Infinite Library.

"Yuuno." She greeted.

"Fate." He replied, smiling. "I thought I would fill you in on what we've found out."

Behind him, the student in the black sut—Hilux, Fate recalled—was leaning over Yuuno's shoulder, angling himself slightly absurdly to get a better angle to look through the holographic camera.

"It's brighter than I expected." Hilux commented.

"Oh?" Prison queried, eyebrow raised.

Hilux frowned, and gestured at the vast cube that hung in the sky. "Well, you know." Hilux paused. "Because it's red, it always got compared to blood whenever people wrote about it. But this is more like, fire-engine red."

"I think that had more to do with how many people it's killed." Prison rebutted.

"Oh please." Hilux said, rolling his eyes. "This murder-puzzle has only killed like, an eighth as many people as the Forbidden Zone. And nobody compared the Forbidden Zone to blood."

"The Forbidden Zone doesn't spit mangled corpses out." Prison countered. "It just obliterates trespassers' souls."

Yuuno coughed. "Perhaps you should include Fate-san in this conversation?"

Hilux grinned, slightly guilty. "Oh, right. That's the Blood Cube—or the Red Box, or the Crimson Cube, or the Puzzle Box, or a dozen other nicknames because nobody knows who built it for sure so there isn't a proper name for it." He shrugged. "It's basically harmless, so it just hasn't been a priority for Lost Logia researchers. Keeps getting pushed behind more problematic stuff."

"You just said it kills people." Fate pointed out, voice to mild to really be called disagreement.

"Well, yes, that's true," Hilux said, "but only people that ask for it. If you don't climb inside, it's harmless."

Fate glanced at it, contemplating it for a moment. "And what happens if, as you say… someone does climb inside?"

Hilux glanced at Prison, who shrugged.

"You solve math puzzles until it kills you." Hilux said.

Fate blinked. "What do you mean?"

Hilux considered. "Okay, so, this thing, this Blood Cube, is a big red cube with a square hole in the bottom. If you go through the hole, there's a visual representation of a math problem, with multiple choices. If you pick the right answer, a door opens. If you go through the door, it closes behind you. Or you can go back through the door you came in from and backtrack until you leave the Cube. But if you do go through that next door, there's another puzzle in the next room, and it's a little harder. Everyone has either given up or… well, their mangled, torn-up corpse is found floating in the bay. Apparently the punishment for wrong answers is severe." Hilux shrugged. "But it doesn't abduct people or blot out the sun or pour monsters into the sea, so compared to a stereotypical Lost Logia, if there is such a thing, this Blood Cube is harmless."

Fate considered the Blood Cube for a longer moment.

A perfect cube, suspended in the sky above the rolling waters of Salt Bay, a crescent-shaped curve of coastline with a long, sloping beach that had once supported salt-making as a major industry of the substance-farming peasants that had lived here before mining had rendered it obsolete.

The cube itself was clearly artificial. It was perfectly smooth and flat, with an extremely uniform surface that had over the long centuries resisted all attempts to carve out a sample. Every surface was, without exception, bright red.

Although it cast a shadow on the waters before it, it was exactly the same color of red no matter which direction it was observed from. The effect was dizzying; it had the appearance of a badly-done illusion, a cube of color simply imposed on your field of view without any regard for sunlight.

But it was real.

And, apparently, deadly.

On the bottom surface, in exactly the center of that side, there was a door, an aperture. Anyone could step through.

Inside was a room, also exactly cubical.

The Red Cube-the Blood Box-was the most famous Lost Logia on the backwater planet of Jetter, an enigma that had sat inert for a very long time. But, because it was inert, because the Dictat was only grudgingly cooperating, this dangerous-yet-harmless thing had not been mentioned to the Enforcers by any of the locals.

In all the centuries since the Fall of Al Hazred, the beginning of TSAB's recorded history, not once had someone completed the Cube's puzzles. Very few had even tried across the centuries.

Fate frowned. "Why would anyone even enter this thing."

Prison smiled blandly. "Why for the treasure of course."

"Treasure?" Fate asked.

Hilux sighed. "Well, it's not really a fortress mean to hold something in protection until it's needed, and it's not really a prize in itself, but it's obviously a puzzle, obviously a challenge. So, people are confident that there's a reward for solving the puzzle, a prize for completing the challenge." Hilux vigorously raised a finger. "But! That's conjecture. There is not even one reliable indication of who built it, let alone why, so the idea it contains a treasure is simply a hypothesis based on human psychology."

"It could be trolling." Prison added.

"A possibility," Hilux allowed, "And considering what we know of Al Hazred, maybe even the likeliest possibility." Hilux sighed. "Anyway, since testing the hypothesis 'the Blood Cube contains a treasure' has cost the lives of everyone that's tried to test it, eventually people kinda… gave up."

"That is not entirely true." Yuuno quietly said.

"Eh?"

Yuuno sighed, rubbing his neck. "Although the builder is still unknown, certain classified documents predating the First King War indicate that it was built on commission."

Prison frowned. "Are you saying… you know who had it built?"

"Yes." Yuuno sighed, closing his eyes. "A famous arithmetician and alchemist from that era."

"No." Hilux said, shaking his head. "Don't, just no, I don't wanna hear this."

Prison smiled, his eyes wide. "Dr. Scrya, are you seriously implying…"

Fate pursed her lips, unsure at the sudden mood that had overtaken the librarians.

"Yes." Yuuno said, opening his eyes, meeting the gaze of each of his pupils, before turning to make eye contact with Fate. "Abdul of Al Hazred."


	3. XVII

**Chapter 2: XVII**

It had already been hours.

Since the two men, vagabond and anachronism, had entered this mysterious thing.

Since the challenging puzzles were presented.

Although he was a mage, although he relied on the math underneath his magic, the vagabond had already been left behind. The problems are simply too challenging.

Not to solve.

Too challenging, to even understand in the first place. Even when his comrade explained them, his mind could not encompass them.

A four dimensional shape projected into three dimensions: choose the one with the altered chirality.

A 3-dimensional matrix of complex numbers: select the one with an eigenvector that does not form a series with the other options.

From a series of complex organic polymers, choose the one that does not match the topological probability distribution of the others.

He could not read them.

He could not understand them.

Even when his comrade explained, he could not even comprehend the question.  
So he certainly could not answer them.

Which meant…

For so many hours, all he could do, was stare at the unchanging flat red walls, as his comrade, in turn, stared at complicated representative patterns that occupy some portion of the wall. All he could do is wait.

Gambling his life not on his own actions, but on the mathematical ability of a comrade that was thrown into his path.

They are not friends.

They have no common interests.

One is a wandering vagabond who spent four decades on a fruitless quest. Certainly, he has already failed; because, time does not stand still. Even thirty years ago was too late. But what else could he do?

So that vagabond, wandering with any real point, already a failure, just got in fights. Because he was good at it, he enjoyed fighting; and because he was a homeless wanderer drifting in the dark spaces, and crawling between cracks in the Administered worlds… there were plenty of fights thrust upon him.

But the other…

The anachronism was inscrutable, even to his comrade. He barely spoke. He had neither companions nor family. From the perspective of their magitech culture, he is retarded, handicapped, or crippled; his linker core was a useless, atrophied thing.

But he was filled with contradictions. That black suit, like a layer of armored skin, is proof that he is from a civilization that could stand with any of the highest among the TSAB. But even more than that, is underneath that foolish-looking tophat. Not just that magnificent, cybernetic brain. The more obvious thing unnaturally sticking up out the top.

Simply because he was curious about that guy's head, the vagabond extended a hand in friendship. Because, he was bored, and the story would probably be interesting.

But now… chased by Enforcers on a dystopian, polluted world, cluttered with remnant technology from the King War Era… it was a little too interesting.

That vagabond grunted.

The anachronism twisted his head slightly, looking at his comrade out of the corner of his eye.

The vagabond simply shook his head.

The anachronism turned back to the puzzle before him. With a nod, he selects the answer, and presses the wall.

There is that same ominous pause….

And the door opens.

Silently, the vagabond stands, no longer slumped against the wall.

The anachronism does not yet move to go through the door.

So, the vagabond spoke. "What is it?"

The anachronism considered. "Beyond this door," he began, "if my dead-reckoning of our position is correct, if I have not made any errors and this structure has not interfered: then beyond this door, is the center of this structure."

The vagabond considered this. "You're sure."

"No." The anachronism said, blinking slowly. "Discounting any internal errors, the possibility of being misled is not zero."

With a shrug, the vagabond stepped forward. "Well… no matter what, we can only proceed."

A desperate plan. Simply…

Bet that the math ability of the anachronism is a match for the puzzle.

Bet that the puzzle contains a Lost Logia or other treasure.

And bet that the prize is deadly enough to provide a bargaining position against the TSAB.

A childishly simple scheme.

But, in the small amount of time remaining to them, it was their only hope.

To bet three times, and hope that all three bets were winners.

The vagabond stepped through the door, into the recessed hallway, like an airlock. When they were both inside, the door closed behind them, and the door to the next room opened before them. Now, they were officially committed; they had bet their lives they could pass the next room.

What awaited them was both more and less impressive than they expected.

The room was simply another cube, like the many that had come before it; the exact same proportions as all the rooms that came before them. The color ("red") was already something they were tired of.

That was nothing special.

But there was no puzzle, and there was only the door they had entered.

This room was the end, the treasury, there were no further challenges.

Because… in the exact center of the room, was a shape completely different then the rigid cubism that had completely defined even the runes and symbols used for the puzzles.

It was a column, a pedestal, shaped like water erupting from the sea, a tapering thrust that ended on a curlicue. That it was the exact same shade of red as everything else only accented its organic geometry. Rather than the flatly artificial shapes like carved steel that surrounded them, this thing had the appearance of a petrified sea-thing electroplated with iron. An impossible, unnatural appearance.

And resting on that column—

No. It was not supported directly. It was floating slightly above, suspended by some magic of subtle mechanism and obvious effect.

Hanging in the air before them—

A thick tome, a book bound in dark leather, embossed with a strange symbol in bronze, sweeping out and around from the cover to latch and lock the pages shut.

The first bet was won—they have cleared the puzzle.

The second bet was won—the puzzle contained a prize.

And the third bet—that prize, that treasure:

Even among Lost Logia, none are more dreaded than the Magical Grimore Class.

The two man glanced sideways, each meeting the eye of their companion.

The vagabond jerked his head in the direction of the book before them.

He is not cravenly sending the other man to go first; but rather, the other man deserves to hold up the prize they have gathered.

So, the anachronism steps forward. Both hands reach up.

Clad in the weird fabric, like a cool black layer of armor that was grown around him rather than strapped on him, two hands reach up, and grasp the book between them.

Rumbles and clicks spread, great sounds.

The vagabond looks around him, feeling the tremors traveling up through his legs, as shuddering bumps spread along the structure. They are not falling, there is no sensation of dropping towards the ground.

But rather—he can feel it. The walls are coming apart. The puzzle, defeated, is dissembling itself. In its rigidly square way, it is blooming open like a flower.

The Vagabond reached out with his hand.

With an old friend, there was no need for him to even ask.

The device, Flamberge, spoke. "Set up. Ready."

I I I

The announcement rang out through their heads.

[The cube is moving].

"Stars and Saints", Hilux said, amazed, "they actually opened it."

Yuuno nodded unhappily. "You two stay here. I'm going down with Captain Testarossa as support."

Prison simply nodded, and Hilux swallowed his own complaint.  
After all, properly speaking, this was a police action, not an archaeological expedition.

Yuuno Scrya turned, and as he marched down the hall, his barrier jacket activated, and the grand cloak swept out from around him to billow behind him.  
Even as he entered the teleportarium, he saw that Fate Testarossa had already passed him. That tight black suit, with the black undercoat and white overcoat; she was also in full barrier jacket.

"It's been a while, hasn't it, Yuuno?" she softly asked.

"Since we fought together?" Yuuno clarified. "It has. But, don't worry; I'll stay out of your way. I won't put myself in any danger, Enforcer Testarossa."

She smiled. "Thank you for understanding, Librarian Scrya." To stand on the sidelines as a civilian while a girl you had been friends with since childhood entered the battlefield; it was a difficult thing to ask of anyone. But, Yuuno Scrya was a professional, and would behave professionally.

Even as the dimensional transfer distorted space around them, still—

As he breathed in the heavy, thick sea smell of Salt Bay, still, Yuuno Scrya could not help the curl of worry that reached up from his gut and squeezed his liver.

I I I

Request: Query: Identify yourself

Compared to that voice that thrust itself into his head, the disassembly of the puzzle around them is a distraction to the anachronism. These words are like a brand being pushed into his mind, unnatural and uncomfortable.

Request: Query: Identify yourself

The words being thrust into his head—he reached out with his own mind, the electromagnetic waves generated by the machines of his brain trying to set up radio contact with the thing grasped in his hands. Handshaking procedures were sent, and ignored. Packeted data was burst transmitted across many frequency bands. None were received. Every ping attempt failed.

Imperative: Query: Identify yourself

The pattern of nerve stimulation is mapped. It is not as simple as radiocommunication. It is less effective and vastly more complicated; modulation of both electrical and magnetic fields to resonate with sensory structures inside the human brain. As a test, that man simply repeated the signal.

Imperative: Query: Identify yourself

The signal sent out was simply returned. Regurgitated back from man to machine.

Device {Type: Logia, Class: Grimore} {Designation: Mentalist's Treatise, Serial Number: XVII}

Compared to human speech, it was about the same speed. To that man, used to communicating at the speed of thought, at the speed of computerized thought—compared to vocal speech, it is equally frustrating and tedious.

I I I

The Red Cube unfolded before them.

No, to call it unfolding is wrong. Because, not even one part bent. Not one part changed shape. But rather, square sections disconnected, and great monoliths and cubes of unknowable machinery floated apart.

It looked like an exploded view diagram of a Rubick's cube puzzle done all in red, he thought.

But it was not a diagram. It was really coming apart.

Those bizarre blocks shifting apart—

There. In the center, at the very middle of the construct, were flashes of colors that were not red. Gray, and white, and black, each stained and faded, not the pristine monochrome of the alien structure surrounding them.

The suspects were found.

One, the second, the accessory, was standing in a combat-ready stance. Even as Yuuno watched, his ragged clothing disappeared and the asymmetric barrier jacket spread down his limbs.

The original suspect, wearing a long coat and a ragged top-hat, was motionlessly standing, holding—

Yuuno's heart caught. His breath stopped. His tongue pressed against his teeth.

That man, the suspect, was holding the Lost Logia.

It was an old-fashioned book, a heavy leather tome.

Among all Lost Logia, the greatest and most terrible, with many dreadful functions, with many terrible spells, with many subtle enchantments—  
That fearsome class of device, "Grimore."

He did not entirely trust his voice.

[Fate,] he announced with telepathy, [this is very, very bad.]

Grimly, she nodded. Yuuno raised his hand, but then lowered it, allowing Fate to pull ahead, as he held back, hanging motionless in the sky.

This was not his operation.

It was Fate's responsibility here, so he should obey her orders.

And as she descended—

The accomplice shot up to meet her.

I I I

With a final shuddering click, the walls around them cracked open. For the first time in nearly a day, natural sunlight entered his eye through the gaps where the walls once met.

The vagabond grunted, sliding his left foot out to lead into a fighting stance, swinging his sword-type up into a guard position. He scans the sky—

If it was him he would—

There. Of course.

He scowls, squinting up towards the sun, closing one eye. Because, between him and the sun, is a person.

An enforcer?

He cannot tell.

I I I

Imperative: Query: Identify yourself

The anachronism considered. Something like a voice or personality was beginning to become apparent, like the rich undertones of a human voice speaking, compared to the same words as flat written text. So, still searching for his own comparable voice, that man modulated the electromagnetic field generated by his own body to respond in kind.

Device {Type: Human, Class: Conjoiner} ###

No, that was not quite right. He had made a mistake.

Error detected

Please resignal

Warning: 3 errors remain before countermeasure initiation

Even as flat text, that last line was ominous. But in the cold voice tone, almost hopeful, almost gleeful, it was even worse.

I I I

With the sun behind them, he can only make out the outline of their coat; judging from the long hair, that one hanging above him is a woman.

Her voice is soft-spoken, but there is steel in that tone. Her words are projected into his head via telepathy.

[Please surrender. I cannot guarantee your safety if you resist.]

He scoffs, and launches himself blindly towards the voice—  
Sword comes up and out, he draws breath into his lungs—

His mouth opens for a roar, and—

"Blitzen". He calmly announces.

He vanishes.

No. It is not something like teleportation. Rather, it is simply, high-speed movement.

Like a stroke of lightning, he has moved behind her.

She whirls about. Both black cape and blonde hair billow from the centripetal acceleration of that rapid turn. Her hand comes up, raising that axe-type device.

But that move is too late. Her axe is too slow. The sword is approaching her head.

A cool voice rings out from that axe. "Blitz Rush".

His own eyes widen. Without any hesitation, he throws himself forward, fluttering into high-speed moves once—

Twice—

And he stops and turns on a third motion, raising his sword up into a desperate guard, fearing he didn't shake her—

She has not moved.

Her face is cold. Simply, those cold eyes are taking his measure. Her beauty tugs at his heart strings, almost like—

"You." This time, she speaks with normal words, not telepathy. "You're the one that cut down Private Lanster and Corporal Nakajima."

He scowls, throwing aside his distraction. Then, he pauses.

"Who?"

Her eyebrows come together, and her voice becomes somewhat angry. "The TSAB officers that were cut by your sword not even three days ago."

He grunted. Admitting to cutting down more than those two would be the act of a fool. Instead, he hefted his sword. "So." He said, glancing over his shoulder.

His comrade is still occupied. He has no idea what that guy is doing with that book. And it's not like they can escape. For now, it would be best to buy time.

"So." He repeated. "I'm surprised to run into another speed-type. Usually TSAB agents favor bombardment and shooting magic from range."

At that, she smiles somewhat. "In that case…" so, she raised her hand.

"Plasma Barret". Announced her device.

Yellow light built up, and spilled forth like streamers.

The vagabond scowled as he watched them curve in towards him. They were probably seekers.

Well, he ruefully considered, he was the "attack no matter what" type anyways, so.

He snapped his sword up. Around him, bright blood-red light gathered.

An electric chime sounded from his device.

Flamberge announced, "Photon Javelins."

The red lights buzzed, and then launched, blasting towards his opponent in a line.

Eyes narrowing, Fate snapped Bardiche, and flickered away, dodging the shots of light.

"Sir!"

The barrier lit up behind her. She glanced over her shoulder.

With crazed eyes, he glared down from behind the barrier his sword had landed against.

He flickered, and she swung her axe, deflecting a blow—

Down from the left side—

Rising towards the right thigh—

Horizontal for the eyes—

His physical enhancement magic was not enough to overwhelm her one-armed parries.

That sword, inches from her face, was held back simply by her holding the haft of her device before her. Her eyes drifted sideways to met his.

He had an expression like an animal.

Eyes open, the lids peeled back, the whites were spread out and down, making those pupils look small. His mouth was like a rictus, a tiny gap between teeth exposed because the lips were tauntly drawn back. His hair was floating behind him, his beard sprayed down from his chin, like a rabid lion.

If he was a human, he was smiling madly.

If he was an animal, it was the look a beast threatening with their teeth.

Without even twitching or blinking, he flickered back, moving in the high-speed movement again.

Fate did not flinch as her Plasma Barretts cut across where he'd been, streaking lights that crossed mere centimeters from her skin. A mage with lesser shooting magic would have been struck by their own homing spells.

But Fate is not a lesser mage such as that.

They curved, chasing him back further, even as he flickered.

Grimly, Fate considered. His spell, that "Blitzen", had a lower top speed and a shorter range than her own "Sonic Move." However… to use repeatedly, three, five, or seven times like he had—she could not daisy-chain her own spells like that.

Rather than pushing back the limits of his spell like she had, this man had instead focused on mastering it so perfectly repeated use became easy.

Even now, he was dragging her Plasma Barrett back around, trying to pull them back into attacking her.

That told Fate he did not believe his barrier jacket nor his shield magic was capable of withstanding those spells.

But, it also said he was absolutely fearlessly forcing a game of speed chicken.

Bardache rang out agreement in an electric tone.

"Zanber mode". The device announced.

The device transformed, and a greatsword of light sprung forth from Fate's hand.

I I I

The name of that device was like grains, caught in the gears of his mind.

Flamberge—

He has heard that before.

It was not search magic that told him this, but rather, some long-ago, mostly-forgotten memory.

With a sigh, Yuuno let it go. He could not remember it now; the gears had forced those grains of memory out of his head. If it came back to him, then it would come back to him.

I I I

He smiled.

Even while being chased by these damn homing blasts, he smiled. The lips peeled back from his teeth turned up. His snarl became a real smile.

Because, she was going to challenge him at swordsmanship.

His barrier jacket was softer.

His physical boost was weaker.

His flight speed was slower.

His shooting magic was lighter.

Frankly speaking, in every way, his magical parameters were lower.

However.

In bloodthirsty one-on-one combat, in a deathmatch of "cutting the opponent", among mages with flight, among Unadministered hedge witchery, among wandering killers in barbaric worlds that knew nothing of magic; in all of those places he had crossed swords with killers, and even after all that blood-stained time:

He was still alive and whole.

He shot forward, sword raised in challenge.

His sword swung down—

She slapped it aside with her own blow—

He simply twisted up to cut towards her wrist—

She jerked back to evade—

He thrust forward—

She twisted around and swung at his ribs—

He swung up to a guard, forcing her sword up, and stabbed—

She grunted as the blade scraped her barrier jacket, forced aside by her armor.

But, even so, she brought up her blade—

He flickered, retreating. His eyes cut sideways.

Her Plasma Barrett had dissolved, used up.

He grunted, raising his sword to a classic guard before him.

His normal attacks were not strong enough. His skill was higher, but her parameters were better.

So, an attack beyond normal was needed.

That sword, that device shaped like an undulation, rang. "Blitz-"

"-KRIEG!" With a heavy scream, that mage finished the spell.

I I I

Flamberge—

Blitzen—

Blitzkrieg—

Yuuno grunted. More grains accumulated. He shook his head. He could not be distracted. He trusted Fate to handle it.

Because—

He could not take his eyes off that other one.

Two dimensional transfer spells were loaded in his mind. One, to reach Fate's side, and two, to flee onto the orbiting TSAB vessel.

As well, his strongest barrier magics were like greased wheels, that with the merest thought on his part would become spinning walls to protect them.

Because—

That one was synchronizing with a grimore.

How frustrating; but, it couldn't be helped. The only thing worse than if that guy synchronized, would be if he failed to synchronize—

And the defense functions activated.

No matter what, he needed to be ready.

I I I

Like pronged lightning, that sword shot forward.

Smashing aside her blade—

Forcing open her guard—

As the lightning converged against her, forking into five, six, seven simultaneous great spears to pierce her, she could not help smiling.

Because, in committing his attack fully—

He was finally open.

"Lightning Bind".

Those seven prongs of lighting were dissipated in a flash.

I I I

Device {Type: Human, Class: Conjoiner} {Designation: Jastrustriak, Serial Number: N/A}

Error detected

Device {Type: Human}, invalid parse

Please resignal

Warning: 2 errors remain before countermeasure initiation

I I I

With a great wrench, that sword was caught and forced aside. His arms were flung open. His legs were pulled straight.

He hung like a puppet, dangling from those savagely captured arms.

"Ha." He laughed. It was a complicated sound; bitter, but also amazed.

Because—from the beginning, she had not been challenging his swordsmanship. She had been deceiving him. Rather, her goal was simply to have him distract himself, and in that instant—bind him.

Because, she is not here to kill him. She had already said that. So, she had no interest in entering a deathmatch with him.

She was here to arrest him.

Captured so elegantly…

His laughter stopped.

Frankly speaking, based on his knowledge and experience; for him to be captured by the TSAB would be worse than dying here.

So.

He breathed in, and relaxed, breathing out. She was talking. Whatever.  
"Flamberge." He commanded. "Riot mode."

"…" The device hesitated. But, was there really another choice?

So.

"Riot mode."

That red arm, and that white arm; both the red leg and the right leg, simply exploded. The barrier jacket detonated. That slate gray vest was comsumed by red lighting, and that striped ascot was ripped apart in a flash.

Defense power was rerouted.

Magically speaking, he was now naked.

No barrier jacket.

No defense.

All of that was blasted outwards, dispelling that bind, but after blasting outwards, it converged once more on that sword. The linear lighting grew vast.

Once more, his voice screamed out. "BLITZKRIEG!"

I I I

Human {Type: Conjoiner} {Designation: Jastrustraik}

Parsing

Error Detected

Incorrect format. Required as follows

Human {Nation: Nation, Rank: Rank} {Name: Name, Genecode: Genecode}

Please resignal

Warning: 1 error remains before countermeasure initiation

I I I

Photon Javelins—

Another grain of dust.

Blitzen—

They had piled up in his mind.

Flamberge—

Each name, adding together, needing only one spark.

Riot Mode—

And now there are enough names. The spark is lit. The dust flashes and explodes. The knowledge races across his mind. That bright flame stops up the gears of his mind, as he remembers:

Ten years ago.

The Infinity Library had stretched before him.

All TSAB knowledge at his fingertips.

For a week, he simply drank deeply of that well of wisdom, fit to burst.

His burning thirst was slaked.

But, after a little while, he felt a little guilty.

Because, he was selfishly only looking up the long-dead things that were interesting to him.

Yuuno had not looked up even one thing for his friends. They had not asked, but, Yuuno wondered. Because, Nanoha was a rare and great talent, from a world with a population with low magical potential. She hadn't even asked, but it was Yuuno that was the scholar, not her, so he wondered about her ancestors. Ultimately it came to nothing, and then—

Fate.

A girl without any family in this world, adopted almost out of pity by Lindy Harlowan.

What if—

So he looked.

But, after looking, it wasn't like Nanoha, where nothing came up, but rather, when he looked, what few things he found, would merely reopen wounds that had barely closed. Knowing what was already lost would not benefit her.

So, feeling regret that he wasn't able to help his friends, Yuuno had abandoned that search, all those years ago.

And now—

But now—

Those grains of memory ignited within him.

I I I

Human {Nation: Conjoiner, Rank: Physicist} {Name: Jastrustriak, Genecode: Baseline (Yellowstone)}

Parsing

Error detected

Non-indexed nation

Error detected

Non-indexed vassalage rank

Error detected

Non-indexed Genecode

Countermeasures Initiated

I I I

The prongs of lighting were launched. They shot out, and then forward. Each slash was aimed at a vital point. The attack power was high enough to pierce even the strong defense of this enforcer before him.

And into their minds, the desperate voice of a librarian they had forgotten spoke.

[Fredrick Testarossa! She is your daughter!]

The lightning froze. The shooting prong stopped.

The many swords of light dissipated like illusory fog, until one sword hung from one stupidly dangling hand.

His eyes were wide.

But the whites were not spread out and down with bloodlust.

Rather, they simply surrounded those amazed pupils like a full eclipse.

That voice, hoarse from screaming, spoke softly for the first time in years.

Like a prayer—

"Alicia?" He whispered.

Then the madness came.


	4. Countermeasures

**Chapter 3: Countermeasures**

In the great mountains outside Crannigan,

On the main continent of the planet called mid-Childa,

Is a great cathedral that sweeps towards the sky.

Of the organization called the Saint Church, this grand building is the center around which the rest of that organization turns. Among the faithful, it is the seat of worship, the Holy See.

Inside that great building, is a sweeping office with magnificent paneled windows, glass stained with an icon of significance within church history.

A heavy table of fine dark wood sits low beneath the sweep of that room's high ceiling.

And, on the thickly upholstered couches on either side of that table,  
Two beautiful young woman, sipping tea.

With a delighted noise, one lowers her teacup. "Ah-ha, somehow you always brew the same leaves so much more deliciously than I can."

Colonel Hayate Yagami. Even holding such a rank, she can still be considered a rising star within the TSAB sky, and an Ace of dreadful power.

"Your words of praise are simply too much for my simple skills."

With a demure smile, Carim Gracia. Even if it is merely a rank of courtesy, a Major General in the TSAB. In terms of real power—Knight Director within the Saint Church.

Hayate sighed regretfully. "But, I don't suppose that you just called me here to drink delicious tea."

Carim's gentle expression was also touched with regret. "It is truly unfortunate that we don't live in a world where that could be the case."

She turned her gaze, alighting on the window.

"I presume you've seen that open letter that Dr. Yuuno Scrya sent out?"

Hayate hummed. "It can't be helped. Now that he's taken on his own students to guide, it would be a little ungrateful of the TSAB not to lighten his burden as the human reference encyclopedia of the Infinite Library."

Carim smiled. "The timing is not bad, since it's been relatively quiet. But, that letter had a much more serious point within it."

Hayate cocked her head. "Oh?"

Carim nodded. "Yes, in his own words, since he has such talented students, naturally he wants to present them with challenging digs, and he apologizes in advance for any inconveniences."

Hayate considered, tapping her finger to her lips. "So, reading between the lines, he's saying, 'everybody look out, we're gonna go stir up some Lost Logia, sorry in advance if they rampage', or something to that effect?"

Carim Gracia nodded with a serious expression. "Yes. And, since the containment and handling of Lost Logia is a major mission of the TSAB, even if it creates inconveniences in the short term, there's still broad approval for that kind of proactive mission." She smiled. "Especially since your cute childhood friend has amassed so much goodwill working in the Infinite Library, and avoided getting involved in any sort of political disputes; frankly speaking, he has a better reputation than I do."

Hayate Yagami honestly chuckled. "I don't think his intentions were so far-sighted as that. Yuuno-kun is simply an honestly helpful person."

Carim Gracia nodded.

Hayate casually took another sip of her tea. "So, this is a guess on my part, but if the one bringing up Yuuno's plan to go after Lost Logia is you, then I wonder if you've created a prophecy."

Carim smiled. "That's very astute. Your guess is naturally correct."

Hayate nodded. "So."

Carim delicately cleared her throat. Her magic swelled and lit around her. The cards spun in a cylinder around her; the mechanism she operated to draw a prophecy activated about her.

With a strong, cool voice:

_"The Blue Cat Shall Reveal unto the Infinite Greed a Vision of Apocalypse; and They Shall Build Works Exceeding Those Forty of Hell."_

Casually, Hayate Yagami took another sip of tea. When she finished, she said, "I don't like it when your prophecies are about Jail."

Carim smiled. "It's not certain, but it certainly appears that way. Well, since prophecies are most useful when they can be broken, my hope is to be as proactive as Dr. Scrya is demonstrating."

Hayate smirked. "The imagery of either forty devils or a 'vision of apocalypse' certainly does sound like a Lost Logia of some kind getting started up."

Carim smiled. "Since his mission is so quietly popular, I think it would be best for the TSAB to honestly endorse the works of Dr. Scrya, don't you?"

Hayate smiled. "Oh ho… you're about to say something amazing, aren't you?"

Raising her hand to her lips, Carim Gracia softly giggled. "I can't get anything past you." Then, lowering her hand, her voice became more serious. "Colonel Hayate Yagami. As the liaison officer working in the support of Dr. Yuuno Scrya's admirable mission to collect and contain various Lost Logia, please accept command of Special Lost Property Division Six."

Hayate smiled. "Of course, I accept." Idly glancing out the window, she mused, "And naturally, I will be keeping my ears open if I hear even the slightest whispers involving a guy named Scaglietti."

Carim smiled. "Well, let's just do our best to build up our ability to handle Lost Logia." With a raised brow, "And of course, if some of Yuuno-kun's broad popularity rubs off on you by association, that can only help you, right?"

Hayate laughed, rubbing the back of her head. "With the support of so many friends, I could probably reach the top!"

To that, Carim Gracia smiled softly, and raised her teacup in a dainty salute.

I I I

Countermeasures initiated

A sensation like warmth entered high on the back of Yuuno's neck, where his vertebrae connected to his skull. The warmth blossomed forward and up.

Warmer.

Like fingers of sunlight that were reaching up from his brainstem into his higher brain functions layered on top.

Searching

Hotter.

Like spears of fire jabbing his mind, a bonfire in his lizard brain that was trying to grill his thoughts.  
The accelerating heat pulsed, like sound being poured into his skull and ignited into words that seared his brain.

Searching

He screamed as the words poured heat on his thoughts.

Search complete

And then the heat stopped. As if a great hand had reached out and snuffed out a candle, the burning was gone from his mind.

Line 1: Come forth oh ye suffering ones

No, even if a candle was snuffed, the hot wax would still be pooled at the base of the wick. This was like someone had poured liquid carbon dioxide on the flame, sucking away all the heat even as the flame was put out.

Line 2: Cast out and buried in the subconscious Gehenna darkness

And then, into the feeling like being chilled that had appeared in his mind, oil was poured into his ears, a cold and alien sensation that coated and gummed up his neurons. He could not think. He could not formulate even one spell.

Line 3: Small ones, ye thoughts of impotence, ye seeds of the tree of woe

For a single, frozen instant, the only thought in Yuuno Scrya's head was raw animal terror.

Spell invocation: Mass Despair

I I I

Countermeasures initiated

The dust blew.

The wind scoured his flesh. His lips, pressed in a thin, cracked line, were frozen in a scowl.

He pushed forward through the wasteland.

Because…

There was no because.

There was no reason to go forward.

He had been banished.

The winds that howled about him could not silence the quiet thoughts that repeated within him.

He wasn't smart enough to understand what she had been doing; he simply liked listening to her talk. And it didn't hurt anything, it was fine, because, a Striker like him had the security clearance anyway.

Pointless Acts, Ye Worm Among Worms

She knelt before the throne.

The haughty gaze that she did not dare to meet smothered her.

"Useless thing." The judgment had a tone that was halfway between sneer and indictment. It was the voice of one who had expected little, and still been disappointed.

"Even such a simple task, and you could not complete it." Even though she did not dare look up from the ground before her, her mind's eye could clearly see that woman shift to rest her chin on her palm.

Ye Failure, Ye Failure, Ye Failure

There was an accident.

He didn't know.

It was stupid to feel guilty.

Even if he had been there, even if he hadn't been off doing his own work, all he could have done was—

Also suffer, and also die.

Die like the two of them had.

Just like that, the reason he was so proud to swing his sword were gone. The things he wanted to protect were gone.

Compared to that, getting thrown away like trash had been like a footnote.

Banishment?

Maybe it was really a dishonorable discharge, but the additional terms were clear.

Banishment.

That was fine. No, not fine, but rather, emotionally trivial. His mid-Childa was already gone, anyway.

Meaningless Indeed, Ye Miserable, Small One

"Stand." The voice was hard, expressing an ugly, thinly concealed hope that she would not.

But she did. Obediently, with eyes still cast demurely on the ground before her, she stood.

"Arms out."

A beat of hesitation. And then, those pale, thin arms were thrust out from beneath that black cloak.

Those hands balled into fists, a desperate attempt to stifle those trembling muscles.

Ye Worthless, Unnecessary One

Enforcers had come.

The first time, all those years ago; banishment had been an excuse. They were simply waiting for him to drop out of view, into the shadows.

Into some shadowed corner, where no one would notice, or care, if he died. Where there would be no other TSAB branches to ignorantly tug on the thread and pull out things the Ground Forces had buried.

They'd tried to taunt him, saying, "we'll hunt her down and kill her too."

Hope had erupted.

Even though he wasn't as smart as her, he was still a little cunning. The secret between them: all of his magic, had been copied into her Device. The Sonic Move, the foundation of his way of fighting, was available to her. Shooting magic, even though it didn't really match his temperament.

If he survived until now, then certainly, so could she.

And, he had understood enough, to know what Project F had been… and she had been so, so close.

They could be together again.

His mid-Childa could still exist.

So, he simply killed them. Without hesitation, without any mercy, he ruthlessly cut down those foolishly believing that they would kill him.

He slaughtered the Enforcers that had been sent to silence him, and with hope in his heart, set out on a quest to find them both.

Ye Pathetic One, rub thy belly across the Ground

"Still trying to be a good girl, Fate?"

Magic skittered across her senses, and the binds gently lowered across her outstretched arms, pooling on that exposed skin.

"But it's too late."

The binds were like snakes, slithering over those arms, those wrists struggling to stay still and aloft.

"A good girl wouldn't have failed."

And like striking snakes, those binds snapped tight, wrenching those arms out. Without raising her eyes, her face tensed, holding in the cry as her shoulders were torqued.

"So you must be a bad girl."

The binds pulled, the chains of power tugging, lifting. Her feet dangled uselessly beneath her, her feet uselessly squeezing together.

"And bad girls must be punished."

The whip of light ignited, and lashed outward.

Suffering is thy earned station

The years had ground that hope away. The hope that had bloomed within him, was withering under the simple reality, that their lifetimes were being spent, separate.

Even if he did find them, she would be grown up. Raising a family would be impossible. No matter what, he hadn't been there.

His dream had expired, even as he relentlessly chased after it.

But…

There was still one cool shadow left.

There was still one last thing he could do.

Even if he could not raise her, he could appear before her.

"I tried."

He could say that.

It would not replace the lost years.

It would not undo the reality that he was not there for either of them.

But, if he could explain... maybe he could still make them happy, if they knew that he had never given up on either of them.

Ye Foolish Child, all your acts, all your works, have failed

He stumbled and collapsed into the desert dust.

She fell and bleed across the cold stone floor.

I I I

Their heads rocked back. Their bodies grew taunt and all of their muscles clenched.

And then, like two dolls cast away, they fell from that sky.

I I I

Countermeasures initiated

The machine was like a great claw that closed around his head.

Delicate curved blades of piled circuits, that pressed into his shaved head. The skin and bone of his skull was like a window for those radio-machines to communicated with those circuits that threaded among his neurons, enhancing or even replacing the function of that human brain.

Slowly, the machine fired up.

His metathoughts, monitoring his own consciousness, became aware of an echo.

Each thought, accessing memories or considering some equation from his work or simply participating in the gestalt emotional superconciousness of the Conjoined, did not happen once, or even twice. It was like each spoken word endlessly echoed inside the room called "his skull".

And, even as he became aware of the echoes, they diverged.

Memories of events with details that did not match.

References to emotional node-kernels with different indices of participants.

Experiments-the differences in outcomes were statistically insignificant—but different outcomes, none-the-less.

The Exordium had succeeded.

Communicating through the great blades of computer equipment that nested around his skull, the Conjoiner Jastrustriak was successfully sharing his thoughts with the Jastrustriaks of parallel dimensions.

Ye, Such a Grand Work, Ye Human

The walls of the room called "his skull" had doors carved in them by those blades. Doors that opened onto other rooms, that were subtly different.

Thought-tokens and ideas were freely passed between those rooms, like paper airplanes being endlessly thrown.

But those rooms, connected together, like a floor of a building, became aware of other floors.

Because if this floor was "now", was all the rooms that occupied different positions within this time-plane, then there were higher floors in this building. Even as he became aware of those elevator shafts, he realized, they led into "the future."

He had known.

He had been told.

But, to experience it directly in his own mind…

The head, which contained the room called Jastrustriak's skull, the face of that head had a delighted smile.

Ye, Grand Works

Because, just like the paper-airplanes with the mathematical proofs and interesting algorithms printed on them were shared among those rooms, pieces of paper drifted down that elevator shaft.

They were merely signs, rather than words or arithmetic symbols.

They were not blueprints, but rather, sketches.

But…

Thy Pride grown great

Even if they were just signs, they pointed out the correct path through the thick mist of ignorance.

Even if they were just crude sketches, they still provided shape to tools he could not yet imagine.

But,

To Fall is Thy Destiny

Compared to the signs,

And compared to the sketches,

The most important thing that poured down,

Was the river of tar.

The pieces of paper were flecks of white,

In an unending flow of black.

It was as if the building was jammed into a sky of unrelenting, unending muck, that continuously flowed down those elevator shafts.

Those shafts were like straws, sucking tar into the present from the future.

And that tar, was

Ye Miserable O##

Shut Up

And that tar, was

Hatred.

Malice.

Repugnance.

Unending, unrelenting antipathy.

Built up for incomprehensible eons, a great and terrible malevolence.

It gazed upon those signs,

It peered at those sketches,

And understood nothing. It did not think. It could not comprehend. But, without any of that, it still hated.

Anything that gave form.

Anything that gave shape.

Including you, little computer

Anything that possessed the volition to add organization, that contradicted the spontaneous and unthinking ordering of the chaos,

It craved their destruction.

Little Pest

Hunched in some pile of mud

It hungered to rip up those signs. To shred those sketches.

no

To unmake, anyone that dared to make.

You are nothing compared to the vast evil

That lurks between the stars

It was nothing less than the enemy of all thought.

I'm scared

I I I

The Conjoiner Jastrustriak opened his eyes.

This Device, this Grimore, had pried open his mind with its magics, to rip open his despairs and smear his face in them.

But in opening his mind, it became open to his mind.

And the brain of a Conjoiner, was a potent computer, an infamous computer.

Because, it was said their minds could hack into anything with circuits—and enslave it.

I I I

He plummeted through the sky. He could not control his flight spell. His mind was in turmoil.

But, his constant companion was still beside him. That shape of bronze was still attached to the loop around his arm.

"Defenser". With that announcement, a bright red plate with a rim of mid-Childan runes lit up below him, and he smashed into the water.

Falling onto water from so high up would have the same hardness as falling onto cement.

His bones would be smashed, and his organs pulped.

But, the spell broke that fall, and his barrier jacket protected him regardless.

Sputtering, he floundered in the water, breaking through the surface, blinking the stinking brine from his eyes, spitting out water.

A yellow circle lit up above and beside him, and another mage smashed into the ocean before him.

Grimly, he pulled himself forward with strong even strokes.

I I I

That anachronism, wearing that dirty, beaten coat, suddenly looked strange.

The ragged top-hat was gone.

His bare head was exposed.

There was no hair.

That skull, with skin as smooth as a boiled egg, was not round.

A crest of bone rose straight up.

Thick flesh muscled that bone, with veins and arteries pumping warm blood up through flushed skin that stretched back from that muscle like a sail.

Dumbly, Yuuno realized that it was a functional thing, that crest of flesh. It was not some bizarre decoration.

It was a vane. A way to dump heat.

That hot blood was carried out of the skull, and cooled, and pumped back in.

It clearly marked the man as unnatural.

No human brain could possibly generate such heat.

So, he was a cyborg.

That was the most obvious truth. Compared to the Numbers, compared to the Nakajima sisters, he was obviously—

Farther from human.

Yuuno thickly swallowed.

He grimaced, picking himself up from the red floor where he lay. He wondered if he could fly.

He doubted it.

He swallowed again, clearing his throat.

"Was that…?" He didn't know what he was asking.

With eyes closed, the cyborg—Jastrustriak—nodded.

[Those were all memories.] The telepathy was, Yuuno didn't think it sounded like a voice. Dimly he could tell that it was being passed through the Lost Logia. The man was sending his thoughts to the Book, somehow (Yuuno couldn't determine the mechanism without examining them more closely), and it was the Book that was performing the actual telepathy spell. Simply, the Book was functioning as his Device.

The Book was his Device. A chill down his spine.

But that telepathic voice, was not a simulation of sound, not 'a copy of his speech in your brain'.  
It was richer, full of inflection and subtones that a human voice could not produce. It was like five voices speaking in perfect unison, but despite having the same rhythm, each stressed different words, each expanded on the meaning more fully.

It was definitely the voice of a natural telepath.

[Your worst memories, pulled from your brain, and sharpened, and thrown back to skewer your heart.]

Yuuno nodded shakily. "So…" He paused. "What happened? Why did it stop?"

[I won.]

Yuuno's swallow had nothing to do with clearing his throat.

[Your name is… Dr. Yuuno Scrya.]

Yuuno blinked at that, surprised. "I—yes, how did you know?"

[This Book had loaded the memories of everyone present into itself as part of its spell. When it broke those memories were accessed by me.]

Yuuno sighed. "Well, it can't be helped, I suppose." He scratched his head, frowning. "Even if it was a terrible experience, that was an amazingly effective mental search magic. I hope the spell data wasn't corrupted too badly when it crashed."

[The spell didn't crash.]

"You just said it broke?"

[…I apologize. It wasn't the spell that broke.]  
[What broke was the Grimore's personality emulator.]

"…You drove a Lost Logia insane?"

[It was only emulating intelligence. No sapient beings have been destroyed.]

"That… that actually does make me feel better." Yuuno paused. "So… let's talk."

[About?]

"What happens next. To you, and your friend."

Even though he was only considering it for several seconds, Yuuno noticed that the pulse on the cyborg's head-crest sped up. He wondered how much time was passing subjectively, inside his machine brain.

[The harvested memories I accessed indicate the TSAB is extremely lenient towards people who agree to recruitment.]

Yuuno nodded, the beginnings of a relieved smile tugging at his lips.

I I I

Fate drifted. The blue-green water enveloped her. She felt like a jellyfish, a limp thing floating nervelessly without any direction.

Light was diffused dimly around her. She was not that deep, but water quickly snuffed out many colors.

She felt like she wanted to sink deeper into the darkness. The black despair felt like a weight that should pull her down and properly swallow her.

She clearly imagined a voice.

_Fate-chan_.

That imagined voice sounded so sad for her.

_Because we're friends._

Fate Testarossa Harlaown cleared her nose and her mouth by breathing out smoothly, and stretched into a streamlined form, calmly swimming up towards the sunlight, where pink and yellow lights would shine freely.

Her head broke the surface, and she whipped her hair out of her eyes and controlled her deep breathing to sweep the burning out of her lungs.

Over the steady and far-away roar of waves breaking on the beaches of Salt Bay, the sound of splashing, swimming arms approached on her.

"Ready, sir."

Fate nodded, clutching the prism of her device in her hand. "Thank you, Bardiche."

She prepared herself to confront this man swimming towards her.

Spell after spell rose up in her mind, branching outwards along possible events, mapping her actions and reactions.

That blond-haired man swam forward.

As he closed in towards her, his mind reached out to her.

[I never gave up on you.] He said.

[Even though I couldn't be there], those pain-filled words said, [even though I am too late to do anything], he continued, [I never gave up on returning to you.]

[Alicia.]

Fate stilled, sinking down for a beat, before she began treading water once more.

"That's not me." She whispered.

He paused. Even if he could not understand her words, that tone of voice still reached his ears.

Fate prepared herself. "I'm not Alicia. My name is Fate Testarossa Harlaown. I am a Project F clone."

He paused. His face grew heavy. Even without him telepathically projecting his thoughts, she could see in his face that his mind was racing, putting together the pieces that had been ripped from her with the ones she had just handed him. "Then… those… Precia…"

Fate remained strong. "Yes. Those were my memories."

His face twisted, became a rictus of anger. "I failed!" Those crazed eyes turned towards her.

"I couldn't save your mother!"

"I couldn't raise your sister!"

He lunged, wrapping his arms around her. For the first time in decades, he held something softer than a sword in his hands, but that joy was nothing to that grief.

"And I couldn't protect you!"

He shouted. He raged. "All three of you! All three of you! I couldn't do anything. I didn't even know you existed, I didn't even know. But still, I never gave up on any of you!" He sobbed, clenching her to his chest.

"Twin girls… two beautiful daughters, and I couldn't protect you from anything."

"Fate", He cried, "forgive your failure of a father. Because he wants you to know, even if he failed to reach you, he never stopped reaching out for you."

Fate stared at the ocean sky.

Someone she'd never even known existed. A total stranger she'd never met before. Compared to the fulfilling life she'd lived until now, he was certainly an unnecessary existence.

And yet…

A hole in her heart was quietly filled.

The arms in those uniform sleeves came up. Underneath the weathered arms thrown around her neck, those smooth arms wrapped around his ribs.

"Thank you, Father." She said, smiling. "I'm… I'm happy to hear you say that."

By some unspoken signal between them, they both lifted up to fly in that broad blue sky.


End file.
